


The Crown

by luckandillusions



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst and Tragedy, Civil War, Dragon Riders, High Fantasy, Multi, Politics, Pre-Canon, Story: The Princess and the Queen, Story: The Rogue Prince, the Dance of the Dragons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 23:38:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13492218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckandillusions/pseuds/luckandillusions
Summary: Once upon a time the Targaryens ruled the skies on the backs of dragons. But when the heroes fell, and their armies burned, only stories were left to remember them by. This is the story of the last dragonriders. It is not a fairytale.





	1. Prologue

Once upon a time there was a Princess. The people adored her and hailed her the Realm's Delight. She had hair like spun silver and eyes like amethysts. Her mother was the beloved Queen Aemma Arryn, her father the stern but just King Viserys Targaryen. For eleven years the Princess and her family were happy, and the realm was at peace. 

But peace never lasts long in this world.

When the Queen died, the King threw himself into his work. He kept his only child close by his side. The Princess flourished, gaining loyal followers who would stand by her side, come what may. The girl was named the King's heir, breaking years of tradition. The Seven Kingdoms would have a Queen. But just when things were looking bright, the King remarried.

Alicent Hightower was young and proud. From the moment she set foot in King's Landing, she clashed with the Princess. Unlike Queen Aemma, Viserys' new bride would go on to give him four children, three of them sons. As nobles began to choose sides, the Red Keep became a tumultuous place. 

Long before the first signs of war, court was already a battleground. On one side, the Queen, on the other, the Princess. 

That Princess was Rhaenyra Targaryen, and this is the story of how she almost changed Westeros forever. 

This is not a fairytale.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline has been altered somewhat to age up certain characters.

**106 AL**

The Red Keep was alive with hundreds of voices. The capital was always bustling, but today was special. Today, they were celebrating. The King and Queen had been married for half a decade, and to honor his wife, Viserys was hosting a tournament. Lords and Ladies from all Seven Kingdoms filled the halls. But, before the games began and champions were named, there was a feast.

Everyone was there. Queen Alicent looked radiant in green, her dark hair framing her heart-shaped face. She was a sight to behold. Even the children made an appearance. Little Aegon and Helaena were paraded around by their nannies, stuffing themselves with lemon cakes and pie. Alicent held baby Aemond for a bit, before sending him off with the wet nurse, and resuming her place by her husband's side.

But the crowd wasn't whispering about the Queen. Not even her beauty or her royal children could distract the nobles. There was only one thought on their minds: Where is the Princess?

Just when the crescendo had reached its peak, the doors opened. Rhaenyra Targaryen was late, but it had been by choice. She stood at the top of the steps, her long silver hair falling down the back of her black and red dress like a waterfall. For a moment she waited, surveying the courtyard. Heads turned, as people took note of her presence.

The Princess descended the stairs slowly, walking decidedly through the tables, toward her father. "Doesn't she look just like her mother?" One woman sighed, wistfully. "The Realm's Delight, indeed."

"I can't believe Viserys named her his heir," a man said bitterly. "Does tradition mean nothing anymore? What would his grandfather think?"

Rhaenyra ignored the chatter, focus fixed on the head table in front of her. As she neared, the King grinned, standing up. "There you are, my darling girl. Look at that dress." He clapped his hands together. "Striking." Next to him, Alicent's mouth was set in a harsh line. "Join us, join us, you're just in time."

The girl smiled back at her father, unable to help herself. She walked around the table, bumping into Ser Criston Cole on the way. He smiled, a charming perfect smile. Rhaenyra smirked mischievously, turning away before he could speak. When she reached the royal couple, her father embraced her. As Viserys kicked off the evening, Rhaenyra and Alicent exchanged terse smiles. "Now that my daughter has arrived, let us truly begin our festivities. I thank you all for joining us to celebrate my family, and I look forward to seeing you on the tourney field tomorrow. But, before I let you return to your meals, I have just one more announcement."

The guests whispered amongst themselves; wondering if the King had prepared a special gift for his Queen. "Without family, a man is nothing. Tonight and tomorrow, I hope each and every one of you will remember that. Take pride in your house, and trust in them. They are all we have." He motioned toward the crowd, and heads turned, attempting to get a look at the person he summoned. "On that note, I would like to welcome back a man who has always been there for me. The years have carried us apart, but now he's home. Daemon, join us please. You are part of this family, brother, now and always."

Otto Hightower's sharp gasp was nearly drowned out by the cheers from the guests, but it didn't escape Viserys' notice. He turned his head to shoot the older man a harsh look. No one noticed the Queen's own quiet gasp, or the fact that her face had nearly turned as green as her dress. She reached for her goblet, taking a long sip of her wine.

Rhaenyra nearly leapt from her seat as she hurried to the edge of the table to meet her uncle. She tossed her arms around his neck, and he laughed, hugging her tightly. "I've missed you so much, it's been too long!"

Daemon kissed the side of her head, and led her back to her seat. "If only I could put into words how thrilled I am to be back in your company." Rhaenyra blushed, cheeks turning the same shade of red as her gown. "But worry not, your father named me to his Small Council this afternoon. I am here to stay."

The guests settled back into their seats, and the servants brought out the first course of oxtail soup and plum wine. Rhaenyra brought her cup to her lips, while Daemon leaned forward, looking toward the center of the table. "I truly cannot believe my brother married that wench. What a bore."

Rhaenyra sputtered, nearly choking on her wine. She looked at him wide eyed, and then cracked a sly smile. "You ought not say that in my father's presence. I'd hate for him to send you away again." She paused, tilting her head. "Why  _did_  he send you away?"

Daemon gave her chin a little tap. "A long story, my dear one, and nearly as boring as the Queen, I'm afraid. What I did in my time away is far more interesting." He paused to build suspense. "I nearly defeated the Triarchy single handedly."

The Princess raised an eyebrow. "Nearly?"

"Well, there may be one or two left," he amended with a shrug. "But, diarchy doesn't roll off the tongue as well, now does it?" Rhaenyra shook her head with a smirk. "With the Sea Snake by my side, we were unstoppable. Corlys has sailed as far as Leng. Together we took the Stepstones, I even had a crown..."

Daemon regaled his niece with tales of his time away, and Rhaenyra listened with rapt attention. But not everyone at the table was as overjoyed to have Daemon back as the Princess was.

King Viserys was so interested in his fine meal, and the even better company, that he hardly noticed his Queen's discomfort. Alicent leaned toward her father, pale as porcelain. "He was supposed to be gone.  _Forever_ ," she hissed. "You promised."

After his initial outburst, Otto had regained his composure. At least on the outside. "I truly believed he was." He glanced over at the Prince. "He claimed to be King of the Stepstones. I can't help but notice the brothers reconciled privately. I'm sure Daemon's pride had something to do with that."

"You must talk to Viserys. You're his Hand; he'll listen to you. You have to do something," Alicent begged. "His brother is a demon, ask anyone in the city."

"Your handmaids chatter too much," Otto chastised. "Even I must admit that Daemon Targaryen was the best Commander the City Watch has ever seen." In a way, Otto admired the Rogue Prince. Daemon's men had been fiercely loyal, and he'd trained them to be the best fighters in the city.

Alicent frowned. It was the sort of frown that made her face look sharp in all the wrong places. "Weren't you ever curious how he became so good at his job? He employed  _assassins_."

"If I were you, I would be less concerned with the Lord of Flea Bottom, and more concerned with the Princess."

The Queen's eyes flicked back toward her stepdaughter. She frowned again, this time out of confusion. Her hands absentmindedly adjusted the tiara perched atop her head. "I have nothing to worry about from the girl."

"Soon she'll marry and have heirs of her own," Otto said slowly, as if Alicent were dimwitted. "If we're lucky, they'll all be girls, or stillborn like her mother's-"

Alicent recoiled from her father in horror. "If we're lucky? Father, she's only a girl."

"A girl who is heir to the Seven Kingdoms. It was well and good when she was his only child. May the Seven take us all if we're forced to endure another Great Council. I can't imagine Laenor Velaryon would fair any better against Rhaenyra than he did against her father. He may be a man grown this time around, but he is still a–"

Alicent cleared her throat loudly, and looked pointedly across the courtyard to the table displaying the Velaryon standard: A white seahorse on a seafoam field. Otto nodded once. "Sometimes I forget myself." His daughter raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

"It's time Viserys reconsiders his heir. Your boy Aegon should sit on the throne after his father." Otto still believed the Great Council had been a mistake. Old King Jaehaerys should have been allowed to choose his own heir. Now a precedent had been set, and the Lords of Westeros believed they had some say in their King.

Otto was a firm believer that the King was chosen by the Seven. But that didn't stop him from insisting Rhaenyra was not the one they'd ordained. It was evident to him that his own grandson should sit upon the throne. If only he could convince Viserys of the fact. In certain circles, Otto Hightower would be called a hypocrite.

"Perhaps we should wed him to Rhaenyra," he suggested.

"Aegon is four," Alicent reminded him. "Besides, Viserys has a mind to marry him to Helaena, the two are inseparable." The next course was brought, roast boar, and the Hightowers went silent until the servants were gone. "Father, forget this nonsense about Rhaenyra. She's a sweet girl. The people love her. Even that demon loves her, look at them."

Alicent gestured toward the other end of the table where Daemon and Rhaenyra were bent toward each other in a fit of giggles. The two looked up at the Hightowers and froze, realizing they'd been caught gossiping.

"Daemon's love for Rhaenyra is exactly what I'm afraid of," Otto said with a sigh. "That man has always had his eye on the throne. His brother wouldn't give it to him, but maybe his niece will."

"Viserys would never condone a marriage between them," The Queen said quickly. "Daemon treats women like playthings, just look at what happened to his first wife, look at what happened to–" Alicent broke off suddenly, scooping up her wine and taking a long gulp. She sat the empty wine glass on the table definitively. "I want him gone."

Otto put a hand on his daughter's shoulders. "That's a worry for another day. Don't forget, this tourney is in your honor. Try to enjoy it."

* * *

 

Even under the red and silver awning of the stands, the royal family and their guests could not escape the heat of the summer sun. By the last tilt, every man, woman, and child in the crowd was soaked through. But the heat and the sweat did nothing to damper the mood. The nobles in the stands still cheered heartily with every pass, and the smallfolk were even louder. Only one person in the crowd wore a sharp frown.

At the beginning of the day, Alicent had tied green ribbons around the lances of seven champions. Six of them had been unseated. Only one remained, and he was to face the very man who had bested the others. Ser Criston Cole rode forward to face the King. Criston wore the white and gold of the Kingsguard, but Rhaenyra's black dragon brooch was pinned his cape. The Princess had only named one champion, but she had chosen the right one.

Gwayne Hightower, Alicent's younger brother, rode up beside Ser Criston. He was broad shouldered and strong, but much younger than his opponent. The King nodded at the final contestants, and the men turned to take their places at opposite ends of the list. Ser Criston stopped in front of Rhaenyra and winked. Alicent felt her breakfast rise up in her throat. The Princess shook her head, but gave him a coy smile.

"A cask of Arbor gold on Rhaenyra's man!" Lyman Beesbury shouted.

Daemon scoffed. "Who would be fool enough to bet on the Hightower lad?"

Alicent let out an exasperated sigh, earning a raised eyebrow from her husband. "How can I be expected to enjoy this tourney, when Criston Cole has unseated every Hightower,  _and_  my sworn shield?" She asked her father, who sat on her left.

"Your brother has it," Otto assured her, without so much as a look in her direction. Despite his family's poor showing, the Hand was still enjoying himself. "Look at him, he's prepared."

Alicent watched as her brother shifted uncertainly in his saddle. It was a wonder he'd made it this far. "Gwayne has never been prepared for anything in his life," she muttered to herself.

She didn't hold her breath as the two knights charged. They broke their lances on the first pass. On the second Criston's lance hit Gwayne's shield. The cross-shaped window design on the Hightower coat of arms served as the perfect target. Gwayne went tumbling from his saddle, landing with an unceremonious thump.

Criston was presented with the wreath of roses, which he placed in Rhaenyra's lap. With a modest blush that contrasted with her condescending smirk, the Princess sat the flowers atop her head. The nobles clapped for their new Queen of Love and Beauty. That title had been Alicent's at the beginning of the day. This time, Otto joined his daughter in scowling.

* * *

 

The King presented Ser Criston with his prize, a generous purse of gold dragons and a beautiful silver courser to ride in his next tourney. But money wasn't why Criston competed that day. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard needed no gold, but he did need something else.

Rhaenyra sat on the table in the large black and red tent. The tourney grounds were all but abandoned. They were alone. Her silver-gold hair had fallen out of its braid and was sticking to her face and neck. The fine red lace of her gown was bunched around her waist. Criston leaned down to kiss her again, rough and hungry. The stubble on his chin scratched against her smooth skin.

The Princess leaned back on her hands, letting her skirts fall back around her. She wasn't smirking anymore. "What are you thinking about, Nyra?" Criston asked her.

She laughed quietly and shook her head. "Queen of Love and Beauty, that was sweet."

"Was I meant to crown another?" He asked, teasingly. "Alicent, perhaps?"

Rhaenyra screwed up her mouth in disgust. "Certainly not. Though you could do with a bit more subtlety. Everyone knows the winner crowns the woman he wishes to marry," she reminded him. "And people are quite observant."

"People like Daemon?" Criston asked, pursing his lips. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, but didn't deny it.

At the feast, Criston had been forced to watch his Princess talk to Daemon all night. He'd even had to escort them back to her solar after. The Rogue Prince had stayed for hours; Rhaenyra's loud laughs were enough to make Criston sick. No, today had not been about the money; today had been about reminding Rhaenyra that he loved her.

"I am Lord Commander of the Kingsguard," he said, rolling his shoulders back proudly. "I took a vow. No lands, no wife, no children."

Rhaenyra's smirk had returned. "When it comes to those vows you appear to have selective memory."

He shrugged. "We all have our faults."

She leaned forward, regarding him with a lazy smile. "Someday soon I  _will_  have to marry." Rhaenyra knew exactly what to say to get under Criston's skin. "My father is already discussing matches."

Criston stepped toward her again and put his hands on her waist. He tugged her to the edge of the table, and she tilted her head up to look at him. "Someday is not today."


	3. Chapter Two

****107 AL** **

On most days the Small Council chamber was one of Rhaenyra’s favorite rooms in the Red Keep. It had stained glass windows that cast a pretty light over everyone at the table, and tasteful tapestries on the wall depicting Aegon’s Conquest. Rhaenyra’s presence at her father’s left reminded everyone that she was his heir and the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

On this day however, Rhaenyra wished she was anywhere else.

The Small Council was engaged in a heated discussion, and showed no signs of stopping. Alicent hovered behind her father, with five-year-old Aegon on her hip. The child cooed softly, oblivious to the tension in the room. Rhaenyra grimaced, she hated when the Queen came to Councils.

King Viserys was quiet, listening to his Councilors. Rhaenyra had always admired how her father could command a room without a word. She liked to think she’d inherited that from him, but she was afraid it was her beauty that captured attention and not her power.

“It seems half the room has attempted to marry the Princess to one of their own kin,” Lyman Beesbury said, flashing a knowing smile at Rhaenyra. The Master of Coin had been a promising knight in his youth, but an injury had forced him to give up jousting. Lyman had kept his looks though, and he was a good friend to Rhaenyra.

Lyonel Strong bristled. He was tall with a head of curly grey-black hair, and could be very formidable when he tried to be. If he hadn’t been dressed in his finest tunic, he might have been mistaken for a sellsword instead of a nobleman. “Harwin is a fine knight. Daemon himself named him a captain of the gold cloaks,” he reminded the Councilors. “He’ll be Lord of Harrenhal one day.”

“Sure, Harrenhal is a lovely castle,” Tyland Lannister conceded. “If you can escape the ghosts.”

Lyonel looked to his youngest son for help. Larys only raised an eyebrow. The Master of Whisperers had inherited none of his father’s looks. He was bald and fat and short.

“At least Lord Strong veils his reach for the throne, unlike Lord Tyland,” Ser Criston noted, from the other end of the table. “Though I suppose you did put forth your brother first, that must count for something.”

Tyland shook out his head of shoulder-length blonde hair, unbothered. He was as handsome a knight as any. The Smallfolk called him “Lann the Clever reborn.” Though, those closest to Tyland would never use “clever” to describe him.

“There’s no denying, House Lannister is historically the richest in the realm. Jason, or myself, would make a suitable match for the Princess. The crown would never lack for funds.” It was true that Tyland was a Lannister of Casterly Rock, as he liked to point out as often as possible. In some ages that had meant something. But in this age, Corlys Velaryon held the title of the richest man in Westeros. If it weren’t for the bitterness he still harbored from the Great Council, he might sit on the Small Council in Tyland’s place.

“Lord Blackwood and Lord Bracken have both made theirs intentions known,” Grand Maester Orwyle said, looking up from his papers. He had a chain that was nearly as long as he was tall, and he wore it doubled up around his neck to keep from tripping over it. “Though marrying one would mean alienating the other.”

“They’ve been feuding since the dawn of time, one would think they’d have it all settled by now,” Lord Beesbury muttered.

“Where is Lord Daemon?” Tyland asked, drawing attention to the empty seat next to Rhaenyra. “Surely he would see the benefit of wedding a Lannister into the royal bloodline. The Seven know he loves his riches.” Everyone else at the table exchanged looks, but no one seconded Tyland’s assertion.

Lord Strong cleared his throat. “Setting aside my boy, we could search for a strategic match. Has anyone contacted the Prince of Dorne?”

Before anyone could speak, Alicent stepped forward. “How about Aegon?” The Queen rounded the table to stand by Rhaenyra’s side. The Princess eyed the child uncomfortably.

Lyman laughed sharply. “Now half the table really  _has_  tried to weasel their own kin into the running.”

Otto sat up a little straighter in his chair. “It’s good for the dragons to keep the bloodline as pure as possible,” he noted. Nodding his head as if this was the first he was hearing of the idea.

“Shouldn’t we ask Rhaenyra what she thinks?” Criston asked.

“She adores her brother,” Alicent insisted, before Rhaenyra could even open her mouth. “Don’t you, Nyra?”

As Rhaenyra turned toward her, the Queen shoved Aegon into her arms. Wide-eyed, Rhaenyra attempted to get a grip on the child. Deciding he was entirely unamused with the proceedings, Aegon bit down on his sister’s arm. Rhaenyra screamed and threw the child back at his mother. The Princess pushed away from the table and scowled at them all. There was a moment of silence before Prince Aegon started wailing. Alicent hurried him out of the room.

“Well, that settles that,” Lyonel said, giving Otto an odd look.

“Even so, the boy is five, and Rhaenyra is a woman grown,” Tyland pointed out. “It would be a long while before they could produce heirs.”

“All the better for the Green Queen, hmm?” Larys Strong’s lilting voice startled everyone. Most looked confused, but Otto Hightower starred down at the table, suddenly fascinated by the fruit platter. “Much can happen in ten years,” Larys continued. “A summer comes and goes, a girl suffers a tragic accident, a crown passes to another.” Rhaenyra’s face went pale as snow. Otto continued starring at the platter, and the Princess narrowed her eyes at him.

King Viserys pushed back from the table and stood up. “Rhaenyra will marry Laenor Velaryon,” he announced. “I’ve let the tensions between our families go on long enough. Lord Corlys still feels slighted by his lost claims to the crown. If he lived in a different world he might be King Consort to Princess Rhaenys right now. Laenor would have been their heir.” No one mentioned that Viserys could have put an end to the enmity years ago, if only he’d listened to his Small Council and wed Laena Velaryon.

“Most still remember the Great Council that put your claim before Laenor’s,” Grand Maester Orwyle said, nodding. “This marriage would put many a mind to rest.”

“Better than that, Laenor is a dragonrider.” Lyonel rushed his words, quick to rally to the King’s side. “There’s as much Targaryen blood in his veins as in Aegon’s, perhaps more.”

Rhaenyra was the first to voice dissent. “Dragon blood or not, there’s no use for me to marry a man like Laenor. My half-brothers would be more to his taste.” The Princess always took care to refer to Alicent’s children as  _half_ -siblings.

“She’s right,” Tyland spoke up. “It’s well known he prefers the company of men.”

“Let the Princess put forward her own candidate,” Lyman suggested. “You have one, don’t you?”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to speak the name, but quickly closed it again. She glanced toward Criston. Her knight had always given her confidence in Council meetings before. His lips parted in surprise, and Rhaenyra realized too late what he assumed. But it wasn’t the Lord Commander she wanted to marry. Her eyes rested on Daemon’s empty seat for a moment. If only he were here.

Finally the Princess just frowned. “Seven Hells, there must be better options than these.” She glanced quickly between Lyonel and Tyland. “I mean no offense to you or you kin.”

“You will marry Laenor,” Viserys said, turning on his daughter. “Or I will reconsider your inheritance.” Rhaenyra starred, waiting for him to back down. The two looked at each other for a moment, neither breaking. Finally the Princess looked away and nodded once.

“Good. Grand Maester Orwyle, find my brother,” Viserys commanded. “Daemon is a good friend of the Sea Snake, have him send a raven. I want this matter settled within a fortnight.”

* * *

 

That night, Ser Criston Cole found himself standing outside Rhaenyra’s door. He had stood in this very spot a thousand times, but never once had he been as nervous as he was now. He knocked, and waited for his Princess to let him in. She stood in the doorway dressed in nothing but a silk bedrobe. It was lined with Myrish lace, her favorite. Her soft sliver-gold hair fell over her shoulders like a cloak. In the candlelight, Rhaenyra looked more beautiful than she ever had.

She beckoned him inside without a word. Criston paced, and Rhaenyra poured them each a glass of Dornish red. “What is it, my white knight?” She purred, pressing the glass into his hand. “You look a bit green. We’ve only just started drinking.”

The knight gave her a weak smile, and then he turned the glass up and drained it. Rhaenyra smirked, and motioned for him to sit. “I would but we don’t have much time,” he confessed. Her brows furrowed, asking a silent question. “I hired a ship, they’ll be waiting for us at the docks. Pack what you can carry and we’ll slip through the passageway behind the fireplace.”

Rhaenyra glanced toward the fire, a soft smile on her lips. They’d used that secret passage dozens of times to slip in and out of her room in the middle of the night. But quickly her smile faded into confusion. “Where are we going?”

“To Braavos for now,” he explained. “But after that, wherever your heart desires. Pentos, Lys, even Qarth. Seven Hells, I’ll take you to Asshai-by-the-Shadow if that’s where you want to go.”

She laid a soft hand on his cheek, looking at him as if he had suddenly caught the pox. “Criston, I’m afraid I’m rather lost. Why would I want to go to Essos?”

“Your father cannot reach you in Essos, you won’t have to marry Laenor,” he said, hurriedly. “Across the Narrow Sea you’d be free to marry whoever you wanted to.” She smiled to herself then, but not for the reason he thought. After a moment she shook her head. “In Essos no one would care that I betrayed my Kingsguard vows. I have no doubt that I could find work in the service of a merchant prince. We could be together, Nyra.”

The Princess withdrew her hand and starred at him for a long time. Any moment now he would realize what he’d proposed was madness. But Criston just kept looking at her with his big green eyes so full of yearning. “No,” she said finally. “I will not leave Westeros. I will not leave King’s Landing. Not for you, not for any man.” Criston looked stunned. “I am the blood of the dragon. I was meant to be more than the wife of a common sellsword.”

“But I thought…” He trailed off, and then tried again, “I love you, Nyra.”

“If you could set aside your Kingsguard vows, why would marriage vows mean any more to you?” Rhaenyra asked, raising an eyebrow. The Princess knew she was breaking his heart, only she couldn’t find it in herself to care. He had to have known she would never go along with it, and if he honestly believed she would, her white knight did not know her at all. “You should go, Ser. It’s late.”

* * *

 

Daemon took the challenge to heart. Instead of waiting for a response by raven, Daemon climbed on back of Caraxes and flew to Driftmark himself. Two years had passed since he’d seen the Sea Snake. Half a dozen times he’d written to his old friend, asking Corlys to come to court and sit on the Small Council with him. None of his ravens had returned.

Craxes landed in the middle of High Tide’s courtyard. The castle was beautiful. White stone and blue banners on a high cliff overlooking the sea. It made Daemon miss his Stepstones kingdom. Servants and nobles alike scattered as the great red dragon made himself comfortable. Daemon slid off his back, landing in a crouch on the stone.

Cold steel slid under his chin, forcing his head up. An olive-skinned man with a thin sharp sword starred down at him with beady eyes. “This is not a dragon’s nest,” the man said. He spoke the common tongue with an accent.

Daemon knocked the sword away and stood up. “A dragon’s nest is wherever he makes it.” The man lunged at him, and Daemon narrowly dodged the attack. He drew his own sword, the Valyrian steel  _Dark Sister_ , and attacked. The man was quick, moving more like a dancer than a knight. Daemon placed him as a Braavosi water dancer. “If my memory serves, you must be Laena’s betrothed.”

The man ducked under Daemon’s sword, and cut at his legs. “And if I am?”

“Corlys said you were a leech and a coward.” Daemon shrugged, tiring of this game. “I lost track of how many times he talked about drowning you in the sea.” The water dancer darted toward him, and Daemon feigned to the right. When the man turned, Daemon drove  _Dark Sister_  through his thin Braavosi tunic.

Corlys clapped from covered walkway. “You always did have a flare for the dramatic. But it was nice of you to bring me a gift.” The Sea Snake stepped around the body and pulled his old friend in for a hug. Corlys Velaryon had been old the first time Daemon had met him, and now his hair was more grey than silver. But the man was still just as tough and sharp as he had been when he was a man of twenty.

“Believe me, old man, I have more than just the one gift.” Corlys patted him on the back with a laugh, and led him inside. Princess Rhaenys greeted them in the great hall, though her raised eyebrow showed she wasn’t quite as impressed with the duel as her husband.

Rhaenys was older than Viserys, but only by a few years. She was still every bit the Targaryen beauty that she had been in her youth. On either side of her stood a boy and a girl with silver hair and purple eyes. Daemon might have mistaken them for twins if he didn’t know better. His eyes settled on the boy, Laenor Velaryon. “Just the man I hoped to see.” When Laenor raised his eyebrow, he looked so like his mother that Daemon nearly laughed. “It appears your time has finally come, my boy. That is, if you still want a crown.”

Corlys patted Daemon on the back and gave his wife a bright smile. “Didn’t I tell you?” He turned his grin on Daemon. “When I saw Caraxes in the air, I told her we’d be celebrating tonight.”

“Vhagar and Meleys have been in an uproar,” Rhaenys reprimanded. “It would have been nice to have a bit of warning before you brought the Blood Wyrm.”

“I would have written, but Corlys has been ignoring my ravens,” Daemon said in apology.

The Sea Snake frowned. “Ravens? They must have been lost.” He gave Daemon’s shoulder a shake. Rhaenys pretended she hadn’t heard. “You should know you’re always welcome here, old friend.” To his children he said, “Take the dragons out to stretch their wings, and have the cook prepare the day’s best catch for supper. It will be a celebratory feast.”

By the time the first course was served, it had all been settled. Laenor Velaryon would go to King’s Landing to meet Princess Rhaenyra, and Daemon would marry Laena Velaryon in a moon’s turn. The latter had only seemed fair, since he’d killed her betrothed in the courtyard. And besides, he’d never been able to resist a beautiful woman.

It didn’t hurt that a marriage to a Velaryon would get him well away from Alicent Hightower and her pinch-faced father. There had been a time when he’d been content to spend his time in the woman’s presence, and she’d been more than happy to have him there. But she had grown tedious, and their time apart had only made her worse. Alicent would be just as thrilled to see him go, as he would be to leave.

It was Viserys who would disapprove. Only a year back at court and already he was making deals behind the King’s back. But to Daemon, his own happiness was more important than a Council seat. He would miss Rhaenyra though.

“I hear Pentos is beautiful this time of year,” he whispered in Laena’s ear. “Your father used to tell the most wonderful stories about the gardens there. Have you ever been?”

Laena shook her head, silver curls cascading over her shoulders. “Mother prefers to keep us at home, but I’ve always wanted to see the world.”

“It’s a crime to keep a woman as beautiful as you cooped up at home.” Daemon brushed her arm and she smiled. “Perhaps we should go. We could leave tonight, we have dragons after all.”

She glanced out the window where the dragons could still be seen flying around the castle. Laena turned back toward him. “What about the wedding?”

Daemon shrugged. “There are septs in Pentos.”

“Mother wouldn’t approve,” she said, drumming her fingers on the table. Her lips pursed in thought.

“But Corlys…” He pressed.

When Laena smiled, her violet eyes sparkled. “Father would say it was a grand idea, and they do tell me I have his sense of adventure.”


End file.
